


Disposable

by Mohini



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-15
Updated: 2013-12-15
Packaged: 2018-01-04 18:15:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1084140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mohini/pseuds/Mohini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is disposable, it's only a matter of when.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disposable

“Dromeda? Open the door please,” my older sister pleaded outside my room. I glanced at the clock, noting the late hour and dreading what I was going to find. If I had long been the wild daughter of the Black family, Bella was on a quest to put my exploits to shame. I had made the mistake of introducing her to Muggle clubs early in the summer and she had taken to them as if she had been going all her life. Like me, I knew she loved the freedom. No one there knew about the Black girls. No one knew that we were all betrothed to rich pureblooded idiots and therefore unavailable and untouchable. No one knew my father or my terrifying mother. No one knew that Bella and I could hex a person into the next century with barely a thought because it had been the only way to survive our childhoods. Most of all, there was no baby Cissa at the Muggle clubs. She was far too busy being the perfect pureblood daughter and attending all of Mother’s stupid society functions in fussy dress robes.

I pulled open the door and Bella all but fell into my room. One look at her and I knew she was high as a kite. Her pupils were blown and she could scarcely stand up. Not that this was altogether unusual for either of us. She stumbled and I grabbed her before she could hit the floor. Thankful that she was skinny as a rail, I guided her to the sofa in the corner of the room and sat her down. The moment she was seated, she looked up at me and her face crumpled. Big tears were streaming down and though she didn’t make a sound, she shook as though she were having an enormous sobbing fit. 

“Bella?” I asked softly. Black girls don’t cry. It’s one of the many lessons Mother hexed into us before we were old enough for primary school. She withdraws her wand from a concealed holster on her forearm and I watch as her Glamours dissolve. Her face is a mass of fresh bruises and there are handprints around both wrists. 

I don’t ask what happened. I just grab my own wand and set about healing up the bruises. I feel my way along her narrow ribcage and heal the two broken ones on the left. Then I look at her, my wand poised in a silent request for permission. She gives me an almost imperceptible nod and I Legilimize her, quickly finding what I need to know. A quietly spoken healing charm makes her cry out softly, and then I recite the incantation for a contraceptive charm that works both before and after intercourse. Dead useful, that one is. Eventually I will have to thank Molly Prewitt for passing that one along.

When I’m finished, I summon a small box from my school trunk. I remove the wards from it and withdraw a phial of potion. I carefully tip two drops into her mouth and hold her close as it works its way into her system. Morpheus, a considerably stronger version of Muggle morphine, is one of my most closely guarded secret stashes. Bella curls up on the sofa with her head in my lap and I comb my fingers through her tangled curls, wiping away the tears that keep falling from her eyes until she drifts to sleep. 

A few hours later, my alarm charm sounds and I Apparate her into her own room. Mother knows we often share a bed, but she is adamant that we must be in our own by sunrise. Bella fusses like a little child when I settle her into the bed, but a whispered reminder of Mother’s edict quiets her. I cast a warming charm over her, knowing that her skinny little body chills far too easily. I returned to my own room and gathered parchment and a quill. I penned a quick note and sent it off with my owl, knowing that I needed assistance with my next task. The reply came from Evan Rosier within an hour. I would be meeting him that night at the club Bella had attended. 

Bella didn’t leave her room that day, and when I went to her in the evening she was quiet and very still. I ran a hand through her hair and kissed her cheek. “Don’t worry, Bella baby. Dromi’s going to make it all better,” I told her. She nodded and watched as I applied a Glamour that would make me completely unrecognizable before Apparating away. An hour later I returned, appearing in her room with a soft popping sound. Quiet Apparition was a requirement in our family. 

I lie down beside her on the bed and she curls up against me. “He can’t hurt you again, Bella baby,” I tell her softly. She takes out her own wand and casts priori incantatem on mine. The image of the idiot Muggle in the alleyway near the club is immediate. Two little words and a flash of green light and he crumples like a rag doll. 

“I love you,” Bella says softly, hugging me tight. I nod, before taking her wand and casting the necessary charms to eradicate the evidence. 

“No one hurts my sister and gets away with it,” I remind her. 

Years later, when my Bella has been replaced by a crazed shadow of her former self I wonder if I was the one to teach her that Muggles were meant to be disposed of. A dark place in my heart, one I don’t want to acknowledge as my Muggle-born husband sleeps in the next room, tells me that in all honesty, everyone is meant to be disposed of if they harm a Black girl. Even as she is now, I know that I would kill to protect her, as I did the summer we stopped visiting the Muggle clubs.


End file.
